In the distance, the loud clanging of the city garbage trucks bellow against the stillness of the night. Amber and soft white lights flicker against the pitch black sky. Delved deep in the blanket of darkness, red lights flicker on and off to a rhythm no one can hear.
Smash is cuddled up with his head on my leg as I sit here in the early morning hours and soak in the quietness and the variety of music that sings during the night here in the city.
I’m reminded this night, that on this day last year, the sky wasn’t the only thing that was darkened. So much of my time back then was spent in isolation and complete darkness. It almost seems surreal to recall it tonight.
I have been finding adapting to my improved health is not as easy as one might think. When you are severely ill, you long for the day that you become well. When you become well, you struggle with moving forward and enjoying every morsel of your improved life, because the stain of a major collapse is burned into your mind.
Friday nights should be nights that I find myself elated, happy and excited but I am finding more often than not, my mood crashes, sadness sets in, and over-eating takes place.
I think much of it has to do with having spent so much time alone these past two years. The thought of coming home on Friday and spending the weekend alone is so repugnant to my mind, I just start down this emotional slide.
While I look forward to resting from my often very busy weeks now, I can’t seem to embrace being isolated and alone anymore. There is this hidden disappointment that springs to life anytime my mind thinks that the past might be repeating itself.
I have also discovered that I cannot continue to “listen” to audiobooks. The idea of sitting still and not having something to do is so overwhelming I often can’t force myself to lay still and listen to the book for more than an hour. I actually find that I prefer my all time favorite way of reading which is to be holding the book in my hands.
Some things still have not changed as dramatically as my improved physical health has. I still have horrible problems with directions, can’t handle two conversations at once, math is still a foreign concept on the best of days (lol) and I still need to rest. More often than not I set aside one day of complete rest, reading and watching movies.
But the negatives are so outweighed by the positives that most of the time I don’t really pay much attention to them anymore. Except perhaps having to take a down day.
One of my favorite positives that has happened is that I am more able to keep my word when I tell someone I can do something. Being dependable has always mattered a lot to me so to suddenly be able to be dependable more often has been a major blessing.
My writing has suffered terribly and I think a lot of it has to do with guilt and with this idea that I no longer have much to offer my readers. But this weekend showed me that is not true.
Without hope, I would have never survived these last two years, nor these past 20 years of illness. Hope was the one thing that kept me hanging on. Often I would find myself reading of other people who had overcome, regained their health, or even improved it dramatically. Those stories fed my soul a diet of hope until my moment came.
I realize that my story is now such a story for many others. While I am moving onward and forward with my new life and doing my best to embrace the amazing changes I am experiencing, my life experience is one that gives hope that what we desire most in life can happen upon us at the most unexpected time.
The key, however, is to never give up. While being bedbound, wheelchair bound, housebound, and whatnot, with these unbelievable chronic illnesses, hope for a better tomorrow is the velcro that keeps us looking forward to a better life as well as all the goals that we hold deeply within our heart.
P.S. As I finished up this post, the blackness of the night gave way to the bright, blueness of the new day. It was the visualization of the velcro right before my eyes.
Determined to continue forward,